


The Rustic Fuchia Dollar Prince

by Toxel_Blep



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: 20th Century, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anxious Obi-Wan, Blackmail, Bottom Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Maul is the Worst, Demiromantic Qui-Gon Jinn, Depression, Escort Service, M/M, Manipulation, Obi-Wan Kenobi Has PTSD, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-wan goes through some shit, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plant Parent Qui-Gon Jinn, Possessive Behavior, Prostitution, Qui-Gon Jinn Needs a Hug, Stalking, Top Qui-Gon Jinn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toxel_Blep/pseuds/Toxel_Blep
Summary: (London 1910) Quinnell Jinn is a botanist who does better at interacting with plants than people. After so many failed relationships, the man had long come to terms with the fact that he is incapable of showing love for anything other than his flowers and fauna and has resigned to himself to settling with escorts. He firmly believes he is not meant to love and that the only devotion he should have is towards his work. At least, that is what tells himself.Benedict Kenobi was a simple man with simple wants. Working as a bookkeeper in a nice little shop, he was perfectly content with the quiet and slow pace of his life. One day, however, in a tragic turn of events, Benedict becomes jobless. At the risk of being evicted from his small apartment, he is offered the most unusual of lifelines; working as an escort, but thankfully, only a dinner escort. Still appalled at the idea, but having no other options, Benedict agrees.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

With a final punch on the key of his typewriter, and a quick rip of the paper, Jinn let out a very long, exhausted sigh; after many months and many rewrites, he was finally finished with his latest book; _The Beauty of the Lignum Vitae the National Flower of Jamaica_.

Despite his exhaustion, hunger, and the fact that he could honestly not remember the last time he had slept, Jinn felt immense pride swell within his chest. He had been eager to write this book ever since he took his six-month-long expedition to the tropical island to research its beautiful vegetation.

Jamaica had been one of the most gorgeous counties Jinn had ever visited in his career as a botanist; everywhere he had looked he was struck with the most luscious shades of colors he had ever seen, the most crystal clear waters, incredible music, the food, oh the _food_. 

Jinn had never fancied himself much of a fish person, he always found the salty taste to be a little overpowering for him. So naturally, he was not exactly thrilled when he was given a plate of a fish literally called “salt fish” served with a strange yellow fruit called akee, which Jinn was certain was eggs when he first saw it. But much to his surprise and delight, it was one of the most delicious meals he had ever eaten.

The food, music, and people were wonderful, but they all paled in comparison to the main reason Jinn had traveled to the small island in the first place; the plants. All of his life, Jinn adored plants. Ever since he was a young boy, while the other children were off playing ball in the backstreets, he was in the fields or the woods, studying every leaf and flower he came across.

Everywhere he went, he carried a sketchbook with him so he could draw and write down any time he would see something he didn't recognize, a habit which he had kept long into adulthood. Jinn got inspired to travel to Jamaica when he was involved with a kind gentleman from the country around fifteen years or so back.

The man was very handsome, stoic, but not rude, and very independent; he had immigrated to the UK from Jamaica to live a more free life, his home country not ready to accept the kind of love he wanted. His name was Lewis, and he fascinated Jinn with stories of his tropical homeland surrounded by blue skies and ocean on all sides and beautiful flowers as far as the eye could see.

The relationship had come to an end after a little under a year; not long enough to fall in love, but still long enough that Jinn still felt a small twinge of heartbreak and loneliness when the two of them had decided it was best to part ways. Still, it was indeed nice while it lasted, and it was one of the very few of Quinnell Jinn's relationships to end on good terms. 

Leaning back in his wooden office chair, staring intensely at the crystal chandelier hanging from the white ceiling, the middle-aged botanist realized that he had spent enough thinking about times long past, and stood from his chair; the light of pride that had been in his chest just moments before dimming a bit. He was getting too old for this, he should know better by now after all this time.

It was ridiculous, juvenile even. Jinn did not love Lewis, and Lewis did not love Jinn. They had cared for one another, looked out for each other, and did love each other to an extent. But they both knew what that really meant, and they both knew that nothing would ever become of their relationship. Ending things was inevitable. No, Jinn did not feel a sense of regret or longing over how things turned out with Lewis.

It was the complete absence of those feelings that left a new feeling of loneliness in the Irishman’s chest. 

He had come to the seldom conclusion many, many years ago, long before he had even met Lewis; this plant lover was going to die alone. Jinn was born an only child, he lost his father to the flu when he was fourteen, and six years later, his mother joining her husband. There were no relatives, at least none that could be bothered the check on the well being of their nephew.

The only thing left for the man was his plants. After countless failed attempts at romance, after seeing so many men brought to tears because he felt nothing towards their tender warmth and sweet kisses, it had become apparent, that the long-haired man only knew how to love flowers leaves, and trees.

Despite his passion, his yearning for companionship, despite his want; the seeds of romance would never grow past a sprout before it eventually withered and died out of starvation. 

Why it seemed impossible for his feelings to grow into anything other than lust and a small sense of friendship towards these men, Jinn was not certain. However, after spending 40 years on this green planet, he had concluded that perhaps it truly did not matter.

His purpose in life was not to settle down with a handsome, doe-eyed young man, preparing their dinner in the kitchen, kissing his face when he walked through the door.

Jinn's one and only purpose were to show the world the beauty of plants. 

Plants. 

Jinn could handle plants. No matter how many people drifted in and out of his life, plants would always be a part of him and make him feel as if he had a purpose; he was never alone so long as he had his flowers to tend too. Plants did not come with the amount of baggage that humans did. 

Hibiscus does not look at you longingly as you walk out the bedroom door like a sad puppy waiting for its owner to return. China Aster does not berate you for where you have been all night. Zinna does not demand to know what you truly mean to them. Candytuft does not cry and scream that you never loved them, as they throw whatever meaningless little trinkets you bought them in order to give them a sense of happiness at your feet.

Plants were so much easier. Grafting four different camellia buds onto a shrub branch in a spiral diamond pattern was easy, all a person needed was sheers and patience. Plants were something that came naturally to Jinn, he didn't have to think when he was splicing one flower to another or watering his wisteria. But people...

People were complicated. People have expectations. People have emotions. People have desires. People have needs. Not plants. Plants will die if you give them too much love.

They yellow if you over water them, their leaves can get scorched if you give them too much light, the tips of the leaves can brown if given too much heat, and they can even wilt if they are feeling suffocated; Plants need not too little, nor too much love. Plants had a routine, plants were predictable, people, however-

Jinn stacked his papers together, placed them in the drawer of his desk, marched towards the standing rack in the corner, and grabbed his coat. For the first time in quite a while, his study, which normally calmed his mind and relaxed him, was suddenly starting to feel suffocating. He has spent far too long in his home, he needed to get some air, a nice hot meal, a bottle of red wine, and....company.

Yes, some good looking company was very much appreciated.

Jinn walked over to the small side table next to his desk which his telephone sat on, picked up the handle, and punched the numbers into the rotary like he had done many times before, not needing to look up the number in his black book. 

When Jinn had come to the realization that he was incapable of loving anything other than his green family, it had become apparent that his other urges still needed to be met, thus, he had relented to using escort services. Relented is probably not the proper word to use here, as that would imply the idea of using such a service was distasteful when in reality, it was precisely what Jinn needed.

There were no commitments, no promises, no loyalty, there did not even have to be any talking between them if Jinn wanted. Nothing but hot touches and feeling of skin on skin. At the end of it, when their bodies are slick with sweat, the man of the evening will receive his payment, make his leave, and Jinn can return to his life and his plants without the anxiety of waking up to a pair of young, naïve, lovestruck eyes.

Whores were the only logical solution in his case; Jinn was more than content with that, and he absolutely refused to believe otherwise. No...No, no this was the right choice. This was his only choice. He didn't need love. He loved his work, he loved his plants, that was enough for him. 

Jinn drummed his fingers on the table when the other end of the phone began to ring, feeling a little more impatient than usual.

“Bonjour, _le jardin enchanté de Mademoiselle Violetta_ , how may I help you?”

Jinn cringed at the woman's horrible, and quite obviously fake, French accent, made only worse by the way she absolutely butchered the language. While firmly believed there was nothing shameful about using prostitutes, every time Jinn made his lonely calls to the service and heard the name _“Miss Violetta's Enchanted Garden,”_ he had to hold back in groaning into the phone receiver.

The name of the brothel was really quite silly, and Jinn felt utterly embarrassed by it, that his love for plants would actually be the deciding point in choosing a _whore house_. He was reluctant at first, not wanting his choice to be over something as trivial as a name, but he had grown tired of the other brothels, and really; when one is in a situation such as Jinn's, the name of the establishment where he was paying for sex seemed to matter very little. 

Letting out a tired sigh, Jinn answered. “Hello, good evening miss. I am calling to see what gentlemen you have for the evening. By any chance, do you have a man with bl-”

Before he could finish describing what sort of man that Jinn was currently craving; the slow, vapid sound of the woman's fake accent on the other line cut him short. 

“I am so sorry, Monsieur, I am afraid we only have one man available for the evening”

Jinn sighed again, he was not particularly in the mood for this now. Part of the reason he enjoyed escorts was that he could pick out exactly what he wanted. On the other hand, he had yet to see anyone working at Violetta's that were not easy on the eyes, whoever Miss Violetta was, she clearly had a good eye for talent.

Shrugging and letting out a softer sigh, the exhausted man decided that he was too tired, hungry, horny, and another emotion that vaguely resembled loneliness which he quickly shoved down, to be picky. He responded again. 

“That is quite alright,” Jinn said calmly, “whoever you have will perfectly fine. I was planning on going to a pub this evening, I can cover the gentleman's meal and drinks. If possible, I would like him for at least three or so hours, and I can pay in advance for-”

Yet again, the Irishman was interrupted. This time, with even more disappointing news. 

“Oh, I am sorry again, Monsieur.” She said is a slow voice, just barely making an attempt to sound sympathetic.

“I am afraid that the only gentleman escort we have left for the evening is unfortunately not available for the types of “services” that you require. However, he will gladly join you for dinner if you still require the company. Are you still interested, Monsieur?” The woman saying the last word in a more high pitched voice, an annoying attempt to sound more authentic at saying one of the few words she knew. 

This time, Jinn could not suppress his groan. 

Not available for the “services” he wanted only meant one thing; this escort was strictly a _dinner escort_. The kind that old men and women hired to hang off of their arms at balls, or some other wastefully exquisite event, stand there and look pretty; like an elegant pearl bracelet hanging from one's wrist.

That thought alone made him want to slam the phone down.

While it was true that dinner escorts could indeed sleep with clients if they so chose, they also had the right to refuse any advances as well. Jinn was wondering if this was worth the effort and the money.

True, he could perhaps charm this man into bed after they had their meal, however, dinner escorts did not have the “dinner” in their name for nothing. If this man was interested in having relations, then obviously he would have stated so.

Jinn let out another sigh through his nose. As he reached his arm down to hang up, he suddenly hesitated, the phone hovering over the hook, completely frozen.

As he stood there, in his dimly lit study, surrounded by walls covered in foliage and fauna, he suddenly found it difficult to breathe, his breaths coming out short and shallow. His mind became clouded with the thoughts he had been barely holding back the moment he tore that paper from his typewriter and was left with nothing but his plants and himself. Reminded that the only objects he was ever capable of loving could not even speak, how the mere concept of love seemed impossible.

He thought back to the men he held, bent in half, kissed, made them feel loved when there was none, their heartbreak, their tears, the guilt and pity Jinn felt for them as they screamed and pounded their fists against his chest, how they-

 ** _No_**. He would not allow himself to be alone tonight.

He did not care how much money he would have to spend or who he spent it on; he was going have a good fuck before daybreak even if it killed him. He would offer to pay the escort twice as much as he would normally, there is no rule saying Jinn could not do that, and if this gentlemen still refused, then Jinn would just go to some other brothel or scope out all the bars and pubs until he was too drunk out of his goddamn mind to give a shit about who sucked his cock. 

Tightening his grip on the handset, Jinn brought the phone back up and held the receiver to his ear, having made his choice. 

“Yes,” said the man in his deep, sultry Irish accent. “A dinner escort will be fine, is he available right now?”

“Oh!” exclaimed the phony French woman, startled by the sudden voice, preparing to hang up the phone after hearing nothing but silence for so long on the receiving end. 

“Yes, Monsieur. Benedict if available immediately, do you have an establishment in mind for where you two should meet?” Asked the brothel's receptionist.

“Yes, have him meet me at the Mos Eisley pub on the corner of Catina Avenue in about thirty minutes. As I stated before, I can cover for whatever “Benedict” eats or drinks, and regardless of intimacy, I would still like to purchase his company for roughly four hours. Is that possible, _darlin_ ’?” 

The receptionist immediately perked up upon hearing the nickname, thanking Jinn three times before remembering her job and confirming that his demands could indeed be met; the escort would meet him at the given location in exactly thirty minutes, no sooner, no later. The woman gave the plant enthusiast the amount of his bill before describing what he could expect when he arrives at the pub.

Apparently, Jinn’s companion for the evening was going to be a young man, around 29, green eyes, average height, somewhat lean, shortish strawberry blonde hair, and a small, but still noticeable, mole on his right cheek. Despite being initially frustrated with not knowing what to expect, the disgruntled gentlemen had to admit; his partner for the evening sounded very attractive, and also seemed to be rather close to what Jinn was in the mood for at the moment anyway. 

Giving his gratitude and wishing a good evening to the young woman, Jinn placed the phone back on the hook, grabbed his trench coat that had been forgotten on his office chair, slipped it over his arms and shoulders, and made his way to the front door, making sure to grab his hat off of the hook before he left. It looked as if it could start raining, then again, when was that ever not the case in this damp city?

Jinn often wondered why he made the choice to move to such a place. There was truly nothing wrong with London, for the most part. But there was no denying the constant wind, rain, and fog that plagued the city every autumn and winter could get very irritating at times. 

Jinn had always loved the rain, he enjoyed the sounds that came with it and the way the plants on his patio would glisten with dew whenever there was a shower. But aside from the Kew Gardens (where one of the groundskeepers working there decided to personally rename it “Q’s Garden” after his countless visits), and a few other small parks speckled here and there, the appearance of the city always remained smoky and grey.

He really should consider moving to the countryside where he can be surrounded by nothing but green and blue, but, the city was convenient. He didn’t have to travel over three miles to go to a pub or a brothel. Besides, if Jinn did live out in the country, that meant more silence, more isolation, more time with himself to think about….

The city was the best choice for him. That was obvious. 

As Jinn stepped out onto the stoop leading from his apartment, he was, predictably, greeted by damp air, a white fog, and a subtle chill in the air. Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, his hand touched the smooth, cold metal of his watch. Holding the device up to his face, the beginning of its gold chain dangling midair while the rest trailed back into the warmth of his pocket, he checked the time.

The face of the watch read seven forty-seven, giving him just enough time to walk over to his favorite pub to meet the man he was going to be dining with tonight. Putting on his hat, the Irishman walked down his front steps onto the wet cobblestones of the sidewalk, turned on his heel, and walked down the dark and dreary street to his destination. 

His mind went back to the man that he was scheduled to meet, Benedict. Jinn had doubts that were the man’s real name, it was rare for escorts to do that. Though, the name did not sound nearly as fake as most others who worked in that profession. They would usually choose something that was either rarely used, or something so absurd or over the top that there was no possibility any self-respecting parent would choose.

“Benedict” though….Jinn actually found that he liked the sound of it, even if it was not real. The last man of the evening that the botanist purchased called himself “Diamant” which was literally just the French word for “diamond.” Even though Jinn was found of 'Benedict', he had to admit, it was still a rather dull choice for an escort to use. The reason why so many people in the profession used such ridiculous names was to get noticed. Benedict sounded more suited for a scholar rather than an escort.

But....on the other hand, choosing such a lackluster name, would most likely mean that this escort was not very experienced. Or perhaps completely new altogether. Honestly, him being a dinner escort already told Jinn that much. But a man that was nearly in his thirties refusing to sleep with clients....that was odd to him.

Escorts who joined you solely for lunch and dinner were rare. Most people expect intercourse when paying for one's company, and if the idea of doing so repulses you, then you are most likely in the wrong career.

However....inexperience was not exactly a bad thing. Perhaps, Jinn might even be this man's first client that took him someplace other than some boring black-tie event, or maybe he has never had a job where he was in a more personal, intimate setting...

Maybe Jinn was his first client ever. 

He picked up the pace in his step, just slightly.

As he continued down the dimly lit street, the green light of the Mos Eisely Pub glowing in the distance past the thick fog, Jinn’s mind began wandering to the possibilities of the night and what could happen. The thought of sharing a warm meal with a handsome, naïve, nervous little escort sounded _very_ pleasuring to him.

Whispering sweet nothings in the man's ear as Jinn reached across the table to pour him more wine, the man's face turning bright red as he mumbles a thank you while holding up his glass with a hand trembling ever so slightly, trying his absolute hardest to avoid eye contact, or pretending not to notice when Jinn brushes his foot against his ankle. Could this man be a virgin? That would certainly explain his refusing to sleep with clients.

Letting his daydreaming go just a little too far, the older man could start to feel himself harden, and his trousers were starting to feel rather tight. Shoving his hands down into his coat pockets, Jinn pushed his erotic thoughts aside, there would be time for that later. For now, Jinn picked up the pace in his step, almost doing a short jog in order to get to the pub faster, eager to see what the evening had in store for him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict gets ready for his latest job and he thinks back to how he got in this dreadful position in the first place. 
> 
> -
> 
> Hello y'all! So, I was really not happy with the way chapter 2 came out. It was just too wordy and too rushed and I felt like it was too much of a change from the last chapter. So here's a brand new one! I'm much happier with this one and I hope you guys like it as well.

“Quinell Jinn?” Ben repeated into the telephone as he scribbled the name down in his small brown leather notebook.

“Qui!” Came the reply and Ben had to resist the urge to let out a sigh. He was pleased to know Lily was improving on her French, but her accent needed a lot of work. “You will be meeting zat zi Mos Eisley Pub in forty-five minutes.” This time, Ben could not hold back his long exasperated sigh. Thankfully though, his co-worker did not seem to catch on that the rude gesture was aimed at her. He really should have expected that.

“Yes, alright. I know where Mos Eisley is, I've been there many times. I will head over there immediately. Thank you, Lily.” The woman wished him farewell in broken French and Ben made the wise decision to hang up before he could say something he would regret.

After placing the phone on its cradle on the wall, Ossian Benedict “Ben” Kenobi let out a sigh and got ready for work. As luck would have it, the timing was perfect as he had already bathed himself about an hour or so before getting the call for his latest job, so all he had to do was change into his slightly fancier clothing. Which was to say, anything other than his pajamas. In two short steps the man walked over to the old wooded dresser and pulled out his clothing for the evening; a pair of taupe trousers, navy blue suspenders, a white button-down shirt, and an old tweed vest. Standing up from the spring mattress he picked a wooden brush off the stained porcelain sink and swept it through his glossy, strawberry blonde hair.

As he stood there grooming himself, he stared blankly at his reflection in the cracked hanging mirror pinned to the peeling, stained wallpaper. After a few more brushes and straightening his shirt collar, the man nodded in approval and set the brush back down on the sink. Despite the mirror being slightly damaged, it was probably one of the few classy items the man owned in his tiny shoebox of an apartment aside from his telephone. There were items of personal value, like his precious books and his wonderful Siamese cat, Saber. But as far as “luxury” items went, the antique mirror with its scorched metal frame and large crack going across the lower left corner was probably the nicest. An antique given to him by his two wonderful mothers as housewarming gift when he first moved to London. It was also one of the few things that managed to survive the fire that caused him to live in such wretched accommodations.

Ben stared at the mirror for a few moments with blank, vapid eyes before turning on the sink and began thoroughly washing his hands, making sure his nails were perfectly clean. The man's studio apartment was was so small, he could easily sit on his bed as he used the small, leaky sink. There was a toilet in what Ben assumes used to be a broom closet, but there was not enough room for a tub or shower forcing him to bathe himself in the tiny sink. He could not prove it, but Ben was certain that his current home was a utility room at some point, and he was also fairly certain that it was not even legal to rent a room as deplorable as this. But it was all the escort could afford on his meager pay.

Grabbing a towel and drying his hands, the young man looked up at the mirror once again, but he wasn't looking at his reflection. His green eyes instead focused on it's frame; what was once a beautiful polished brass frame now looked tarnished and old. Black scorch marks gripping its edges. Ben's heart clenched as he looked at those horrible burns, his mind remembering how they got there. He remembers looking down at it as his tears left streaks of salty water on its ashy surface. It had been almost a year since it had happened, but not a day goes by where Ben doesn't think about the day his life got completely turned around and he was forced to move into an bloody utility room. But the mans living condition paled in comparison to his other, much greater loss; his bookstore.

He tried not to, he really, really did, but when his anxious mind started it was difficult to turn off. Growing up, Benedict loved books and literature more than anything else. Raised by two loving mothers and grandfather, the young Benedict was brought in a world of knowledge. He came from a long line of librarians and journalists whom all firmly believed that if you had knowledge, then you are never truly poor, and he valued that lesson greatly. While most members of his family either went the previously mentioned professions or scholars of some sort, and while Ben certainly had the means to be an educator of some sort, he had a very different sort of dream. Benedict's dream was to open his own bookstore in the biggest city in Britain where he could fill it with books from around the world.

So at the ripe age of nineteen after graduating university, Ossian Benedict Kenobi packed his things, hugged his beloved mothers goodbye, and hopped on a train from his small country town and headed towards the smokey city of opportunity. Upon arriving in London, the college graduate was immediately hit with current of culture shock. The large, sleek, brick buildings a stark difference compared to the smaller, wood and stone cottages back in his hometown. It took some time, be he eventually grew to love the city and its perfect reading weather. Thanks to his intelligence, Ben was able to land himself a position working part-time at the local Uni, and a second part-time working at pubs. Sometimes going straight from the university to the pub to start his shift, only to go home, sleep for five hours, only to go out and do it all over again. 

After years of hard work, many nights went by with little or no sleep and saving every single cent he would make, at the age of twenty-three years, the young man had finally achieved his lifelong dream and purchased his shop. It was a small, run-down, rustic little place, attached to a red and brown brick building. It was what one would call “fix er up er,” young Ben had to spend even more money just to get the place fixed up enough to finally set up shop. But he didn’t care, to Ben, the shop was absolutely perfect. It had perfect, diamond-patterned windows, perfect oak floors, everything was just right according to Ben. The next three years of his life would be some of the most happiest as far as he was concerned; the store never made too much money, only enough for him to live comfortably in a small, but very cozy apartment. Not of that mattered to the bookworm, he loved his books, his store, and he loved his life.

It would be one year later when all of that would be taken away from him in a giant cloud of ash, smoke and fire. Benedict was relaxing late one evening in his old cozy apartment, sitting on his bed by the window reading a book with Saber napping in his lap. It was faint at first and then the sound of the siren grew louder and louder, until he heard the noise zoom right past his apartment. He glanced out the window to see what the emergency could possibly be, but what the young man saw could cause his body to turn cold drop his book, hands going up to his mouth to stifle the small scream that escaped him. There, in the distance, precisely where Ben's shop was located; was an enormous plume of smoke rising above the city from a faint, orange glow.

Ben could not remember much after seeing that. He doesn't remember throwing on his shoes and running out the door of his apartment and sprinting in the direction of his store, he doesn't remember being too panicked to grab his coat or the freezing cold of the night air as it hit him in the face. All he remembers is the flames. His shop that he spent his entire life working towards, the shop he spent every cent he owned on, the shop that he had worked sleepless nights to try and afford, the one that his mothers were so proud of him for, the shop that he never once gotten the chance to bring his mothers to; was reduced to nothing more than flames. Ben wanted to do something, he tried to do something. He remembers running towards the front door in an attempt to save something. He remembers the explosion. He remembers-

Benedict could feel his eyes sting and could see in his reflection that he was getting ready to cry. The memory of that terrible night just one year earlier still fresh in his mind. Scowling at the image looking back him, a tear or two rolling down his cheek, the young man balled up the towel and hurled onto the bed. Gripping the sink with both hands, he hung his head and silently sobbed. The silent sobbing eventually grew more and more ragged until in got to a point where he was taking gulps of air to try and calm himself. Ben could feel saber rubbing his head against his thigh, sniffling, the man smiled just slightly and scratched under the felines little chin and brought up his other hand to wipe at his face, but the tears wouldn't stop and breathing was still somewhat difficult.

Taking in a few steady breathes, Ben closed his eyes and tried to steer his mind away the darkness. He forced his mind to think about something else, anything else. He focused on Saber; the feel of his fur, his purring, the feel of whiskers tickling his hands. Ben felt his nerves loosen up and his breathing steady, but only just slightly, so he tried thinking of more things that brought him joy. He thought of his mothers, he thought about his grandfather reading to him, he thought about flowers, he thought about books and tea on a rainy day, he thought about tiramisu paired with white wine, he thought of chocolate, he thought-

Lying down on the old spring mattress, the young man pressed his face into the wool blanket and sobbed as the man's slender body trembled as he cried over his lost life, Saber curling up by his side. His funds had been completely depleted after the fire. Rent was due and he needed money. There were no openings for anything he was qualified for back at the university where he used to work and there was no work at the pubs. He tried some steel and lumber mills, but they had very little use for a short, sweet looking, bookworm pretty boy. Soon enough it was time to pay rent and Benedict had nothing. So packing what few things the young man had left, he and his cat were forced to move to this dingy, filthy, grim and horribly _cramped_ apartment.

The room he had when he first moved into the building was just as disgusting and uncared for, but it was at least big enough to have the sink and toilet in one room. The one and only upside to his new horrid home was, due to it formerly being a utility room, it had the built in phone that the landlord was kind enough to let him use as his own. He would have to pay a very small fee whenever he used it, but there was no other phone in the building he could use privately and it was needed for his new job.

His job.

Benedict slowly opened his tear filled eyes and groaned, the old spring mattress creaking as he sat up. Although he wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and snuggle with his beloved cat, work and money would unfortunately have to come first. Letting out a very long, tired sigh, the man stood up and looked in the old burnt mirror once again and patted down the strands of hair that had gotten stirred in his crying fit. His as were red and puffy, but he didn't care, there was nothing he could do about it anyway. So throwing on his coat and putting on his hat, he scratched Saber's little head one last time before stepping out the door of his closet apartment.

Going down the three flights of dirty stairs and through the cold dimly light hallway, Ben made his way to the main entrance of the brick building and stepped out onto the wet stoop. Reaching into the pocket of his tweed vest, the man pulled out a small bronze pocket watch; he still had thirty minutes to get to the pub, twenty minutes if he hurried. Hearing his stomach growl loudly, he noticed that he did not eat anything other than bread, an apple or two and some water. After another painful and hungry growl, Ben decided not to waste anymore time and hurried down the street and headed towards the Mos Eisley Pub.

As Benedict speed walked down the damp streets to his latest job, his mind, as usually, could not help but wander to unpleasant thoughts and he remembered how he got this job in the first place. Unfortunately, the young man's short stature, slender figure, soft-looking skin, vibrant green eyes, glossy, strawberry blonde hair, and adorable little mole on his right cheek, made Ossian Benedict Kenobi the most perfect little escort to be hired at _le jardin enchanté de Mademoiselle Violetta_. When he was first approached by an employer from the establishment, he was utterly mortified by the idea. He could never do such a thing for money, while the young man was no stranger to sex, he was not exactly...what one would call experienced. However, the middle-aged woman who approached him with the job offer pointed out that being an escort did not necessarily mean sex.

Apparently, “Dinner Escorts” was something the brothel also offered. Benedict, while admittedly far less appalled at the idea, was still not on board. Truth be told, he could not even remember the last time he had been on a real date outside with Maul a few times, even if he took this job, he would probably do a lousy job. But, “Madame Violetta” refused to let a beautiful man like Benedict slip through her fingers, going on about how his sweet looks was bound to bring in customers. She was swore that no matter what, Ben would never have to sleep with a client if was not comfortable doing so. All he would have to do is go on breakfast, lunch and dinner dates, and the occasional socialite event, so he would get money and a good meal for nothing.

With the bills due, him and his cat hungry, there was no other option.

Shoving his hands in his coat pocket, Benedict marched down the damp, chilly sidewalk. For the umpteenth time that evening, Ben sighed loudly as he made his way towards the bar that he had gone to so many times before. Although he was appalled by the idea of it at first, hell the man had nearly cried when he took the job. But he found that it actually was not quite as bad as he was expecting it to be. Ben had expected the absolute worst; while the man was not too small, he was still shorter than most men and because of his delicate features, people, especially other men, had a tendency to underestimate him. Ben was no pushover, he knew how to stand his ground for the most part. Thankfully though, that wound up not being entirely necessary in his new job.

Most who hired him were usually older people who needed a good looking man for a date at some socialite event, or because they wanted to going to an upperclass restaurant or theater and didn't want to been seen as some poor dateless soul. Occasionally, there would be the men who would call him knowing full well that he was a dinner escort and expecting some sort of sexual payoff anyway. But despite not getting anything of the sort, after spending a pleasant evening with a quiet, kind, intelligent man with fascinating stories and conversations and just that _adorable_ laugh, these men would leave the Mos Eisley Pub feeling more satisfied that any sexual act could provide. Benedict's charming personality and cute face most likely saved his life, though he had to admit, he wasn't exactly happy about that. He did not like having to rely on his looks to get by.

Upon realizing he was just two blocks away from his destination, having gotten there in half the time due to his frustrated quick pace, Benedict had officially had enough of this line of thinking and forced them out of mind. What mattered at the moment was work; all he had to do was focus on saving up enough money to find a new home so he could actually cook his meals instead of eating cold foods and relying on his dates to feed him. He wasn't sure what would come after that, but for now, he had no other choice but to work. Speaking of which; Ben reached into the left pocket of his heavy coat and pulled out his little leather book and flipped to the page with the name of his date for the evening; Quinnell Jinn.

It was a rather unusual name, but in fairness, Benedict's real name was not exactly any better. After getting hired at Violetta's, he was told that 'Ossian' was too unattractive and old fashioned for an escort. The young gentleman was very tempted to storm out of the establishment for the rude remark. It may have been odd sounding, but he was proud of his Gaelic name and he thought it suited him well. But the man was in no position to argue when his housing was on the line, so he opted to use his middle name, Benedict. But although he was not thrilled about it, he had to admit that in this line of work, it was probably good for his clients not to know his real name. Besides, he had already lost so much already, what more could losing his name possibly do?

Just before Ben's mind could go down another dark path, the green glow of the Mos Eisley Pub came in through the thick fog. Putting the tiny notebook back in his coat pocket, he turned his speed walk into a short jog as he hurried to the front door, gabbing the brass handle and swinging open. Ben was suddenly hit with a gust of warm, welcoming air and it was just then he realized how cold he actually was.

“Welcome...Sit wherever you'd like....” The temperature may have been warm in the establishment, but the attitude of the Scottish woman managing the bar was anything but. Ben was not particularly bothered by the lukewarm response, it was late and the woman seemed like she was tired and had a long day, besides he wasn't planning on sitting at the bar nor was he interested in really having a conversation with anyone other than with the mean who was literally paying him to.

“Good evening.” He responded to the woman with a warm smile as he closed the door behind him. He then ordered a pot of tea before walking over to a table in the corner. Pulling off his heavy coat, he hung it neatly on the back of the wooden chair before pulling it out and sitting down. It looked as if it was a slow night for the pub, there only being about three or four other patrons minding their own business.

As he sat there at the wooden table, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his book one last time. It was considered customary to memorize the clients name before the meeting, though for the more simple dates it was not required. But Benedict found that he actually liked reading the name; Quinnell...there was something very noble and elegant about the way it sounded, almost like the name of a poet or writer, something artistic, Ben was sure of that. Plus, it was clearly Gaelic, which excited the Scottish man greatly, it wasn't often he heard names like that around the city. Perhaps he was he was a painter working late into the night which was why he wanted to meet so late in the evening? Or maybe even a writer? Violetta's forbade its employees from knowing too much about their clients to help keep the 'allure of mystery' so to speak, so all the young escort could do was guess.

The rule did not normally bother Ben at all, but this time he found himself very eager to know more about his client.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jinn meets his escort for the evening and he's more than he was expecting.

Jinn pushed open the wooden and glass door to the Mos Eisely Pub and closed it behind him as he took off his hat and scanned his eyes around in search of his gentleman for the evening. But as luck would have it, he would not have to search very long. Even if the pub was filled to the brim with patrons trapped in a cloud of cigarette smoke, Jinn would have spotted the man in an instant. There, sitting at a table in the corner was a young man; fair skin, soft and silky strawberry blonde hair a few adorable beauty marks here on there on his clean face and beautiful eyes that were so green they looked like dewdrops on a leaf.

Thankfully the man, which he presumed was Benedict, did not seem to notice that he was being watched because he had not removed his eyes from the little book he was reading. Jinn had slept with a great deal of men, but none of them looked anything like this. The botanist was a little more used to men that were similar to his own figure; toned body, tall (though nowhere near as tall as he was) and somewhat rugged looking. Jinn did not really have what one would call a 'type,' he simply took what was given to him most of the time. That's not to say he hasn't been with a few pretty boys from time to time, but they tended to have attitudes and looked a little too delicate for his liking.

But this man.....it was at that moment when Jinn realized he was not breathing. After taking a few inhales through his nose, the vigor and excitement he felt before stepping into the pub filled his soul once again. A somewhat devious smile spread over his face as he slowly walked over to the man sitting in the corner; this was going to be a very interesting evening indeed. The man still had not notice when Jinn arrived to the table, he appeared to be lost in thought. Very cute. Taking his hat off and holding it behind his back, Jinn spoke in his sultry Irish accent.

“Good evening” The man purred. Benedict nearly jumped out of his seat at the greeting and actually dropped the little book he was reading on the table before hastily placing in the pocket of his coat hanging on the chair. Jinn smile grew; _very_ cute.

After composing himself, the little man straightened his posture and looked up and gave Jinn a sweet smile but it quickly fell. The young man simply stared up at him with those large, beautiful green eyes. His mouth was gaping just slightly, his adorable cherry lips perked up as a blush began to spread over his fair cheeks. The man looked at Jinn like he was rare creature he had never seen before, and the older gentleman could not help but smile even more at the site. The slight change must have been enough to snap the escort back to reality because he blinked quickly before giving a warm, glowing smile.

“Good evening, would you be Quinnell?” The gentleman asked in a sweet voice and Jinn could feel his smile grow even more. Up close, Jinn could see just how incredible this man's eyes really were; pure green bottle. The small, faint streaks of blue on the iris reminded the botanist of the veins of a leaf on a stem. Between the mans strawberry-blonde hair, green eyes, and fair skin with the faintest splash of pink on his cheeks reminded Jinn of the dahila. Though it terms of beauty, Benedict easily has the flower beat.

“I am.” came the sultry reply and the Irishman could see that the blush on the little escorts face had spread to his ears and his eyes lit up just slightly. Oh, this was just _perfect_. “You must be Benedict, it is an absolute pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” Jinn held out his hand to the shorter gentleman.

Ben held up his hand without hesitation, but he did so in way that told Jinn he thought he was looking for a hand shake. Oh no, no no. Upon receiving Benedict's incredibly soft hand, Jinn brought it up to his mouth and placed his lips on his knuckles, holding the mans gaze the entire time. The young gentleman's face did not disappoint at all; his face was now completely red and his green eyes got even wider. The young man regained his composure immediately, so quickly it was almost comical, the man clearly trying to hid his nervousness.

“T-thank you...sir” Benedict managed to voice his gratitude and carefully removed his hand almost as if he was afraid that Jinn might bite it. To be fair, the thought did cross the taller gentleman's mind. Sliding out the opposite chair, Jinn sat down with his back slightly facing the wall and his long legs crossed, which only made them stand out more.

“So, Mister Jinn...” Benedict said while sipping his tea, cheeks still tinted pink. “I couldn't help notice you're accent, would you happen to be from Ireland?” The escort asked with almost hopeful eyes, Jinn guessed that the maybe the man was from there as well. The older man smiled at that, most escorts asked questions because they had to, Benedict actually seemed interested in him.

“Why yes, I was born and raised in Dublin.” Jinn said he poured himself a cup of tea.

Ben's entire face lit up when he smiled and his body perked instantly. “I knew it!” The young escort practically cheered upon hearing the man's answer. Jinn smiled at the response and began chuckling heartedly when Ben's face turn bright red upon realizing what he had just done.

Benedict coughed in his hand and focused his eyes on the teacup in front of him, face still scarlet. “A-apologies, that was....very rude of me.” The younger man continued to look down at the tea cup with his hands clasped on the table, clearly embarrassed.

Despite having a grand time making this escort blush and squirm just a moment ago, Jinn actually felt a twinge of guilt for laughing earlier. Truth was, he thought the reaction was adorable just like everything else about this man, Jinn did not mean to come off as offended. Reaching over the table, the Irishman took one of Ben's hands into his much larger one, stroking the young man's knuckles with his thumb. Benedict's eye immediately darted up and made contact with Jinn's.

“There is no reason to apologize, darlin'. Your response just made me happy is all.” The older man continued to stroke the escorts hand while he spoke and never broke eye contact when Ben. The younger man visibly calmed down, but the his blush was still on his cheeks, though far less red. “Tell me, are you also from Ireland?” Jinn asked one hand still on Ben's while the other raised to call over a waitress.

Benedict pulled his half empty tea cup closer to himself and sheepishly ran his finger around its brim. “Ah, I am actually originally from Scotland, I moved here about eight years ago.” The escort finished the rest of his tea and delicately placed the cup back on the saucer as he finished speaking.

“Oh, I should have guessed you were Scottish by that lovely hair of yours.” Jinn smiled when Benedict actually chuckled at the statement, his shoulders bouncing in laughter.

“Yes, I'm afraid I've heard that before.” Ben was still chuckling slightly when the waitress, finally, arrived at their table with a vapid expression.

“Can I help yi sir?” The busty, heavy set waitress nonchalantly, though not rudely. At least not the one at the bar.

“Yes, a bottle of Merlot, please.” The waitress smiled and nodded before going off to fetch the wine. Benedict looked shocked when Jinn ordered the expensive beverage, but quickly remembered his position and gave the older man a warm smile.

“Thank you, sir.” Said the younger man.

“Oh, please do not be so serious. You may just call me Jinn...” Benedict nodded in understanding, but the older man suddenly got a more entertaining idea. “Or, you may even call me Quinnell if you'd like.” He purred.

Instead of looking surprised or bashful at the suggestion of using his first name, like Jinn had been expecting, the escort actually looked excited. His lovely face brightened in the very same manner it did when the older man had told him he was Irish. No, that's not right, the younger man looked almost elated. Not in the same way usual escorts would act when being allowed to call him by his first name; looking at him with lovestruck eyes and saying his name with voices so sweet it made him sick, or some other sentimental nonsense that made him lose his vigor almost instantly.

Not Benedict however. The man in front of him looked as if he was given a rare opportunity that most only dream of. Benedict seemed most excited about the name itself rather than the fact that it was Jinn's name. Fascinating. The waitress returned with the wine and two glasses which she set down on the table, uncorked the bottle and poured the two men their drinks before heading back to the bar.

“I was actually somewhat hoping you would ask me to do so.” Benedict said sheepishly as he took a sip of his wine and nearly coughed it up when the older man gave him a teasing look. “Oh no that's not what I- Not that I-I umm...” the little escort stuttered out his excuse.

“It's just that...when I read your name I assumed it was Gaelic, you don't hear those names too often, so I'm afraid I got a little excited.” The young man took another long sip of his wine. He appeared to be loosening up a little bit.

Now Jinn was really getting interested. It was not often that an escort got giddy over something like ones name. The man said he was Scottish, perhaps Benedict was not his real name? It was dull for an escort after all, maybe he had a more traditional name that he was too afraid to use. Jinn would have to try and find out. Either way, this young man was nothing like the other escorts or gentleman he had dated. Benedict was...extraordinary.

The man was clearly new to the whole escort business, he wasn't showing any of the typical quirks that the others had. Escorts liked to ask questions, but it was never because they _wanted_ to, it was just a necessity of the job. Make the client feel important and special until the patrons pants were down and payment had been exchanged. It was actually because of those tedious questions that Jinn stopped going with dinner escorts altogether, regardless if the sentimentalism was false or genuine.

But there was curiosity behind Benedict questions that were not motivated by money along with a small sense of wonder. Jinn needed to know more about him.

He leaned over the table and poured the younger gentleman more wine, chuckling. “Yes, I must confess, I have not used my first name in some time.” The man poured himself a glass and took a long sip.

“But enough about me,” Jinn pulled the glass away from his mouth and liked his lips just slightly “Tell me about yourself.” The older man waved over the waitress once again.

Benedict placed his glass back on the table, his cheeks red with alcohol. His face fell slightly at the question. Normally Jinn would never notice something so small, but there was much about this evening that wasn't normal for him. As cruel as it may seem, Jinn was never one to care about the feelings of his dates. It wasn't as if he was there to make friends. But he noticed the warm light dim from Benedict's eyes and it bothered him. Strange. It should very much _not_ bother him.

“Are you alright, darlin?” The botanist leaned in just slightly, concern on his face.

Ben whipped his head up, a forced smile on his sweet face. “Oh, yes, yes...I'm alright.” The smile turned genuine.

Jinn raised his hand up again and the husky waitress came back over to their table and Jinn ordered some food for the two of them; steak with vegetables for himself and Irish stew for Benedict. Although he did not say anything out of politeness, the older gentleman must have heard the escorts stomach growl at least half a dozen times since he had sat down. He frowned slightly, escorts did not make much money despite what many thought. The waitress returned to put in the order and Benedict realized he still hadn't spoken.

“I'm sorry. I'm just trying to think on where to start.” Ben laughed lightly before speaking

“Well, let's see.....it's rather silly but, my biggest passion is books.” Benedict's face was almost scarlet, whether it was from the wine or from Jinn, the older man was not sure. Either way, he was very much amused. Before Jinn could ask anymore questions, the other man was already speaking again.

“I love books and reading, I've always loved them. I love everything about literature” Benedict was in a completely different world when he spoke about books; the light returned his eyes and lit his entire lovely face.

Jinn smiled widely, showing off his perfect teeth. “That's not silly at all, it is a very virtuous hobby.”

The older man continued. “I enjoy books a fair deal as well. Next to plants literature, is probably one of my favorite diversions.” Truth be told, Jinn was more fond of writing than he was reading, but he still enjoyed it.

“What do you like to read, darlin'?” It was then where Jinn realized he had barely used Benedict's name since he sat down. Granted it was part of the man's accent, but he also found that he liked the way Ben would humbly glance down every time he used the nickname.

Benedict gave a large stunning smile at the question, eyes crinkling with excitement. “Ohh, I read just about everything but my absolute favorite is poetry.”

Jinn blinked at that. “Poetry?” He asked curiously, poetry wasn't the answer he was expecting. This gentleman seemed like the type who preferred the classics.

“Yes!” Ben was so excited he didn't even notice the surprised, and somewhat rude, tone in Jinn's question.

“I love poetry more than anything....the way poets are able to convey so much emotion in just a few short sentences is wonderful. My favorite poets are Claude McKay and Walt Whitman, though I must admit I do enjoy McKay a bit more. He is a poet from Jamaica and much of his work is about his life as a foreigner, his poem _The City's Love_ is one of my personal favorites.You truly get the feeling of what he's been through and he expresses himself so eloquently...” Ben eyes were practically glowing as he spoke, completely lost in another world.

The waitress returned with two plates of hot food and gave each man their food, Benedict whole hardly accepted. The younger man dug in and talked about McKay's work in between bites. Jinn was utterly transfixed on the man. The passion and warmth in his voice. The lost and almost dreamlike look in his eyes. Never in his adult life had the Irishman seen another person talk so passionately and in depth about anything, he wasn't even so sure his love for his plants could match. Benedict spoke about poetry as if he were describing a childhood summer memory of years long past, a feeling of appreciation and comfort. However, there was also a feeling of longing accompanied by a sense of melancholy in the mans tone the longer he spoke. Jinn felt both curious and sad that. 

After noticing how long he had been talking for, the escort stopped speaking abruptly and his face flushed scarlet. He broke his beautiful green eyes away from Jinn's and averted gaze downwards to the food in front of him, pushing it around with his fork. The man shrunk, like a flower in need of watering. Benedict was embarrassed. 

“I-I'm sorry....” the young man almost whispered as he placed his utensil down. “I...I've been told I talk too much....especially about book..That must have been dreadfully annoying and dull to hear, I apologize...” The young Scotsman continued to look down at his half eaten plate.

The way Benedict shamefully hung his head caused a tightness to grow in Jinn's chest, the idea that anyone would want to hear less of the younger mans sweet voice was baffling to him. He was absolutely fascinated by Ben's passion and he had wonderful taste on top of everything else, Jinn wanted to hear him talk more! The older clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils slightly in anger. What sort of fool would discourage this wonderful man from speaking ever? 

Reaching over the table, Jinn once again placee his hand over Benedict's much smaller one causing the younger man to look up. “Benedict, darlin'. You do not need to apologize at all. As a matter of fact, I was transfixed.” Jinn shifted his hand so he was now holding Ben's hand and began brushing his thumb over his knuckles. 

“And I'll have you know...” Jinn paused to kiss the younger man's hand. “Claude McKay is one of my favorite poets as well.” 

Benedict's demeanor completely changed upon hearing that sentence. His face glowing brighter than the sun. His lovely green eyes going so wide they put the lush green fields of Dublin to shame. Any feelings of embarrassment or shame faded and in its wake was pure warm happiness. Seeing this mans face light up with joy sent a wave of emotion Jinn had locked away long ago. The Irishman had to use every bit of restraint not to grab Benedict's face and pull him into a deep kiss. 

“Really?” The ever so sweet escort asked. 

“Oh yes. You see, I actually travel a fair deal for my work. Out of all of the places I've been to, Jamaica is my absolute favorite. I came across McKay's work during on of my trips, I even got the chance to meet him on one occasion-” Jinn was cut off. 

“You've met him!?” Benedict's shouted and then quickly brought his hand to his mouth when a couple of the bar patrons turned to see what the noise was about.

Jinn simply could not take the adorableness of this man anymore and burst out laughing. What started out as such a bitter and melancholy evening had easily turned into one better than he could have ever dreamed of. Even if this delightful evening did not end it intercourse, Jinn could not have cared less. Benedict's company alone was worth ten times the amount of a run of the mill prostitute, hell, Jinn would be willing to pay more money just to hear this sweet gentleman talk for rest of the night. 

“Yes, I met him. Believe it or not, I just so happened to bump into him when I was visiting Mandeville. He was a very kind man and was very proud of him home.” Jinn said as he poured him another glass of wine while signaling the waitress over. Ben had practically inhaled his dinner so Jinn took it upon himself to order the young man a slice of mincemeat pie. And another bottle of wine, of course. 

Benedict looked utterly floored, but Jinn continued. He told him everything about himself; how he adored plants and studied all sorts. How he dated a man from Jamaica and told him stories of how gorgeous his home was which inspired him to go. Talked about how incredible of a country Jamaica was. But mostly how much Jinn also enjoyed McKay's work and was still in awe that  _**someone** _ in this city new about poets outside of Wilde. Jinn didn't mind the man, but the poet was beginning to become annoying. The way people talked about Wilde, you would swear the man invented the bloody writing form himself. 

___

It was not until Benedict finished his pie and the second bottle of wine was empty when Jinn realized how late it was getting. Looking over to the clock on the wall behind the bar, it read that it was half past midnight. Thankfully, since the botanist worked from home there was no need to rush, but Benedict on the other hand looked as if he was getting tired. Not to mention the wine appeared to be setting in, the man was more talkative than he was and his face was now permanently red. 

When Benedict was finished talking about a book he read,  _ Leaves of Grass, _ one of his favorites, he tried to yawn discreetly. But Jinn noticed and decided it was time to call it a night and grabbed his coat and hat. “As much as I am enjoying this conversation, perhaps we can talk more as I walk you home?” he asked. 

Despite the wine, Benedict still froze at that question and his green eyes went wide. Jinn barked with laughter “Oh no no darlin', I know  _ that _ is not part of you job. But it has gotten rather late and I just wouldn't feel right letting you walk home by yourself.” Jinn almost could believe the words that came out of his mouth. 

He was fully intending on wooing a dinner escort into his bed and if Ben's bashful nature was any indication, Jinn was already halfway there. But....this evening has already been so wonderful and he no longer felt that knot of loathing coiling in his stomach. No...Jinn was fully satisfied. He could spent hours or even days on end doing nothing but discussing books with Ben. Actually, that sounded far more appealing than any sexual act could offer. 

Benedict turned to look at the clock and let out a small gasp upon seeing it was almost one o'clock in the morning. “Oh my...I'm so sorry, Quinnell. I did not realize how late it was getting-” Ben' apology was cut short when Jinn raised his hand to stop him.

“First of all, thank you _very_ much for calling me Quinnell, _Benedict.”_ The botanist said the escorts name in a suggestive and playful tone. It wasn't the escorts true name, Jinn was certain of it. 

“You seem to be confused on your position.” Jinn chuckled lightly. “If you recall, I am the one who hired _you_. I called for your services because I wanted to spend time with a beautiful young man, and I _have_.” Although Jinn was perfectly fine with no intercourse for the evening, the tingling in his groin was a little difficult to ignore when Benedict nearly choked on his water at that statement. 

“Y-you are too kind sir...I mean, Quinnell.” Just like that, Jinn decided only Benedict would be allowed to call him by his first name. Only him. 

After wiping some of his spilt water off his chin he looked up and Jinn with half lidded eyes and the older man felt a stirring somewhere else besides his loins. The same sensation he got when witnessing a sprout pop out of a newly potted soil, or when his beloved fuchsia would start to bloom its purple and pink petals. A sensation he has not shared with another person in a number of years and had presumed was gone forever. 

Benedict cocked his head just slightly with a somewhat confused look and it was then Jinn realized he had been staring. Smiling, the older man stood from his chair and pulled on his coat and had. Holding out his arm to the shorter man; “Shall we?” He asked with a little raise of his eyebrow. 

The young Scotsman looked up Jinn with those stunning eyes and warm smile. Hastily putting on his jacket, Benedict wrapped his warm hands around Jinn's strong arm. “Why, thank you.” He spoke with an exaggerated snooty woman's voice and Jinn could not contain his laughter. This little escort was just too much. 

Walking over to the exhausted bar maid, Jinn paid his tab and left the woman a hefty tip. Her tired face lit up with pure joy and she thanked him in her thick Irish accent. Wishing the woman goodnight, the two men made their way out of the warm cozy pub to the chilly streets. The temperature had dropped significantly since they had arrived and Benedict shivered at the cold. Not giving it a moments thought, Jinn removed his heavy trench coat and placed it on Ben's shoulders. 

The younger man looked as if he was going to protest, but once again Jinn did not give him a chance to. “You are my escort, darlin'. Let me treat you...” He purred to the shorter man while holding out his arm once again. 

Benedict smiled warmly and wrapped his hands offered limb, silently thanking him. The two men walked down the damp street with a chilly breeze to their backs, but despite the weather, Jinn felt as if he was burning. Whether it was from the alcohol, Benedict's warm hands on him or a lovely combination of the two, he wasn't sure. But Jinn was anything but cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was sooo much fun to write. <3 Stay tuned for chapter three where we will finally get a visit from the evil Damien Maul. >:)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! After throwing around AU ideas over on the QuiObi +18 Discord, I came up with the idea of a 20th Century Escort AU, and after much encouragement (and the quarantine still being a thing) I figured I might as well write it! I'm not sure how long this fic is going to run for, but I definitely plan on making it a great ride with a rewarding end. <3
> 
> I can promise the next chapter will have more of Jinn's dirty thoughts >:3


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